


Hold It

by hoosierbitch



Category: White Collar
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-02
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt on <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/"></a><b>collarkink</b>  "Peter has Neal hold a position (don't care if it's leaning back like he's doing the limbo, standing on one foot, or something inherently more sexual, just /a/ position), featuring an increasingly desperate!Neal who eventually fails to maintain the position."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold It

Sweat drips down past the lines of the handcuffs the strained angle of his shoulders the bruised lines of his hips the agonizing stretch of his feet raised onto the tips of his toes. Peter signed his name to another form and selected another from the pile.

If Neal relaxes the pain in his shoulders will be - exquisite. His face is already tightened with the agony of tension, fighting not to move (if he moves, he'll fall off balance: Peter had measured the length of the hook he is hanging from exactly).

Another form finished. Another drop of sweat. "Keep your eyes open," he says, and Neal jerks a nod and then whimpers as the movement makes him sway the slightest bit.

He may be crying. Peter can't tell. His eyes are bright, his face covered in a sheen of sweat. Five more pages, he promises himself, and he'll go play a little more. He has to keep reminding Neal to keep his eyes open. "Stop trying to pretend you're somewhere else. You're not on a job, Neal. Your life's not in danger. You are going to stay there, doing exactly what I asked you to do, _because_ I asked you to do it. Because I like the way it makes you look."

He stands and walks around the desk to Neal, who, he sees when he nears him, is definitely crying. His breath shudders under Peter's fingers. His ribs are clearly visible, his stomach concave, the stretch of his abdomen leading to his cock tight under his searching fingers.

Peter starts to jerk him off. With every pull Neal sways forward, every push, he falls back. His toes scrabble for purchase on the hardwood, and every failure to balance quickly leads to pain.

"Should I let you down," he murmurs, "before I let you come?"

With the next tight stroke Neal clenches his teeth to hold back a scream. Peter bounces his balls gently in his palm to hear the sound again.

"No," Neal whimpers, and Peter smiles.

There is precious little room to maneuver between Neal's shaking thighs, but he makes it work. Just one finger, just deep enough to find Neal's prostate. He rubs it slowly. "Maybe I should go back to work," he says. "Before I finish you off."

"No!" He falls off-balance with a startled scream, and Peter generously waits until he's settled again before he stops.

"I think you can hold it," Peter tells him, and he goes back to his desk.

Now, Neal is desperate. He's shaking. The chain makes a horrible sound as it rubs against the hook with each tremor. Every breath is painful. Peter lets Neal close his eyes and cry while he works through the stack sitting on his desk.

When he finishes he goes to Neal and drops onto his knees in front of him. Just far enough in front of him that if he sticks out his tongue, he can lick the head of Neal's cock. Just far enough in front of him that Neal has to thrust his hips to reach his mouth.

He licks at the string of precum dripping from Neal's erection. "Please, Peter," Neal begs, and his voice is almost as rough as Peter wants it to be. "Suck my dick. Oh, god, Peter, I'm going to die if you don't - "

"Don't lie," he admonishes, before he takes Neal as far into his mouth as he can.

"Oh, God, Peter - thank you. Thank you so much, thank you thank you thank you..." His gratitude trails off as he realizes the closer he gets to coming, the harder it is to keep still. Peter ghosts his fingers across Neal's thighs, through the sweat gathering behind his knees, to feel the excruciating position of Neal's feet. He tickles Neal's feet to make him jump, which pushes his cock furthur into Peter's mouth, which makes Neal sob louder. He lets Neal feel his teeth and Neal stops trying to avoid the fingers that Peter traces back up his legs - his almost delicate ankles, the extended calf muscles, to cradle the cheeks of Neal's ass.

He takes Neal's cock in as far as he can, pushes two fingers back into his ass, and swallows in Neal's screams and semen when he comes.

Neal sags and cries and "Peter, oh fuck take me down, it _hurts_, Peter, it _hurts._.."

He wraps his arms under Neal's arms and lifts him up, the chain of the handcuffs passing over the curve of the hook, then slow dances him over to the love seat by the wall. "Shh," he says, stroking Neal's back as he sobs. His muscles are spasming, blood recirculating, and the endorphins from his orgasm aren't doing nearly enough to dull the pain.

He holds Neal through the worst of it, massaging his feet and hands and shoulders. He runs his hands down the tight curl of Neal's fingers, checks the quick heartbeat at his wrists, the tight bend of his shoulders pressed into Peter's side, his softening cock.

"Maybe next time," Peter says, "you won't complain so much about doing your paperwork."


End file.
